


The Christmas Cake

by Khaelis



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Christmas Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-02-07 03:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12832110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaelis/pseuds/Khaelis
Summary: Rose knows her neighbour is a terrible cook, but she didn't expect him to set his kitchen on fire.[Prompt Fic | Christmas Fluff | I could smell burning]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Christmas is coming, so is the Christmas spirit and the Christmas fluff!  
> I found this Tumblr prompt and jumped on the occasion to write another AU - because I'm all for some John Smith fluff and romance!
> 
> I kinda wanted this to be E-rated, so if you want it to, I can post a second chapter, let me know what you think!
> 
> I hope you'll like it, don't hesitate to comment, critics are always appreciated! :)

* * *

 

 

Rose puffed into her scarf, annoyed that it was becoming increasingly hot around her neck, and cursed at her woolen hat that had started to slip down on her forehead as soon as she had left the shop and was now obscuring half her sight. With two full bags of groceries precariously balanced in her hands, there wasn’t much she could do to solve her problem, except trying to wiggle her eyebrows up and down in a vain attempt to lift its rim up a little - which only ended up making it worse. The snow crunched under her boots, the mild winter breeze made the few strands of blond hair that had escaped her hat lash at her reddened cheeks, but despite the cold she felt like she was boiling inside all those layers of clothing she had donned. She should have guessed walking a whole mile with tons of groceries in unpractical paper bags would have been enough to warm her up. She hadn’t.

 

The pace of her steps increased when she finally spotted her building, and the promise of a hot chocolate and fluffy slippers made her sigh in relief. She was quick to climb up the stairs leading to the blessed comfort of her flat, a small smile tugging at her lips when she saw his shadow dance behind the curtain she knew kept his kitchen hidden from view. A soft music reached her ears, a quick, high-pitched melody with a regular beeping sound , and she was quite sure she could hear his voice singing above the music, which turned her small smile into a full grin she had trouble keeping away from her face. 

 

She kept walking up the long outdoor corridor that ran along all the other flat doors, and the closer she got to her door - and his - the stronger the smell of burning got. Her smile faded into a frown of worry as she approached the green-painted door adorned with a little Santa hanging on the handle. Standing in front of that door, it was only then that she realized the music she had thought she’d been hearing was actually the sound of a shrilling fire alarm blaring behind his window, and his voice was most definitely not singing - cursing and yelling and cursing some more, which didn’t really help with the bad presentiment gnawing at her stomach. She carefully put her grocery bags down on the grey concrete of the corridor and gave his kitchen window a few knocks with her gloved fingers, but he didn’t seem to hear her, given that he kept dancing around his kitchen, the flow of curses getting even louder. 

 

Rose worried her lower lip between her teeth and tried knocking again, harder, but he remained just as unresponsive. Deciding this was an unprecedented situation that called for immediate action, she took a deep breath and pushed his front door open. She had to bury her nose in the crook of her elbow when she was swallowed by a thick cloud of smoke and the smell of burning failed to make her break into a rough fit of coughs by just a short intake of air. She rushed to the kitchen and watched him repeatedly whip what seemed to be a cooking tray with a napkin, making the smoke even worse - Rose was surprised that a man of such intelligence had overlooked the valuable potential of opening his window.

  
  


“John, what happened in here?” she shouted into the wool of her scarf to cover the sound of the alarm, suddenly glad the garment was tightly wrapped around the bottom half of her face.

  
  


He finally seemed to hear her and spun around on his feet.

  
  


“Rose, hi!” he beamed, the white of teeth highlighted by the thin layer of black soot he must have rubbed all over his chin. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”

  
  


Rose lifted her eyes to the ceiling, instantly regretting that poorly-thought move when the smoke made them water, and strode towards the kitchen window to open it as wide as it would go. She snatched a stool from under the counter and climbed on it, using his shoulder to balance herself and press the button on the side of the alarm to shut it off before it could awaken a painful headache. Silence fell, and most of the smoke was evacuated within a minute thanks to the powerful draughts caused by the winter’s wind.

 

Rose eyed the burnt mass - well, the small lump of coal, really - that had remained unscathed by his virulent napkin assault, then looked back at his face still split in a sheepish smile, and she couldn’t help the laugh that flew past her lips. He joined her with an embarrassed chuckle, scratching the back of his head to give himself some countenance.

  
  


“Well, that didn’t go as expected,” he shrugged, pointedly looking at the slightly fuming tray.

“What is that supposed to be?” Rose giggled, carefully picking up the product of his cooking.

“A Christmas cake,” he sighed as threw his napkin, now pierced with a few burnt holes, into the bin. “Banana flavoured Christmas cake. This isn’t exactly a success.”

“Indeed,” she nodded, what remained of the cake joining the napkin in the bin. “What got into you? You know you’re an outright disaster in a kitchen.”

  
  


His smile fell from his features, and he rocked on the balls of his feet as he clasped his fingers together, suddenly looking very nervous.

  
  


“Well,” he started, clearing his throat several  times before he could continue. “You know, you told me you’d be alone for this Christmas and… Well, I’m going to be alone, too, and I thought… Maybe we could spend it together, and I thought I might, um, invite you for a friendly dinner. I can’t cook, but I thought I could at least make the dessert, so I… Practiced?”

  
  


He offered a quivering grin, and Rose felt warm chills of affection trickle down her spine. She had no idea if he ever was aware of the effect he had on her, but he had the power to make her melt on the spot with a single look and a single word. It was only when he titled his head to the side that she realized he was waiting for any kind of answer - she steadfastly ignored the thought that he might have asked her on a Christmas dinner date, because she knew it would be inappropriate to indulge in a fantasy he most likely didn’t share.

  
  


“I think you might need some more practice,” Rose grinned, taking off her gloves and unwinding her scarf from around her neck. “I can help with that, if you want.”

“Uh, sure.”

  
  


She missed his disappointed look at her lack of comment on the dinner offer as she shed her coat, and she definitely missed the slap he gave his forehead when she disappeared for a moment to fetch the grocery bags she had left outside. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, she dropped her bags on the counter and rolled her sleeves up to her elbow.

  
  


“So, where’s your recipe?” she asked, wiping the counter powdered with flour and dough residues with a clean sponge.

“In my head,” he smiled, planting his index on his temple. “Learned it at work this afternoon, because our printer was kaput. I can work you through the steps, yes?”

“Oh, no, Doctor Smith, you do it and I supervise,” she laughed, throwing a neglected apron around his neck and making him turn around on his feet so she could tie a knot in the small of his back. “That’s how you learn, isn’t it?  _ Experiments _ .”

“I’m not sure I’d call setting my kitchen on fire an experiment, Miss Tyler,” he pouted, looking down at his ridiculous ornament. “Can I put a labcoat instead of this, at least?”

“Oh no, you look way too good in an apron,” she said with a tongue-touched grin, glad to see a blush spread on his cheeks. “Now, what do we need?”

“Butter, eggs, flour, milk, sugar,” he enumerated, counting each addition on his fingers and ignoring the sudden heat that spread down his neck. “And we’re supposed to add orange zest, but orange is rubbish, so we’ll used banana aroma instead.”

“Alright, let’s do it then,” she smiled as she offered him a clean bowl and a kitchen scale.

  
  


John sighed in defeat and reached for the butter that had more than enough time to soften thanks to the sudden outburst of heat caused by the impromptu small fire. He was a bit unnerved to feel her eyes on him as he picked up a knife - he absolutely abhorred being watched while he worked in his lab, and this was no exception. Well, Rose Tyler  _ was  _ an exception, and he didn’t mind  her presence as much as his nosy coworkers peeking above his shoulder whenever he was on something. If he was perfectly honest, he even liked it. He just didn’t want her to witness one of his awful blunders, and he most certainly didn’t want to disappoint her, which lifted the stakes much higher than any other experiments he usually performed in his lab.

 

He bit the tip of his tongue as he weight the exact amount of butter required for his recipe - at least, precision wouldn’t be a problem - and he dropped the yellow block into the bowl.

  
  


“How am I doing so far?” he teased as he reached for the pack of sugar.

“It lacks a bit of grace,” she retorted in a giggle, playfully shoving his shoulder with her own. “But, good.”

  
  


He faked an annoyed huff and poured the required dosage of sugar into a glass with an exaggerated movement of his arm, which caused him to spill a good amount on the kitchen counter, but earned him a warm laugh that awakened butterflies in his stomach, so he didn’t really care. He added this sugar to the butter and picked up a wooden spatula to stir the first two ingredients into a smooth cream. He froze when her fingers wrapped around his to slow his movements a little, and by some magical phenomenon he couldn’t quite explain, she suddenly appeared to be much closer to him that she had been moments ago.

  
  


“Not too fast,” she advised with her other hand splayed over his hip - and that had for only consequence to make his heart beat much faster in his chest. “If it’s too liquid, it’ll be harder to mix in the eggs.”

“Right, of course,” he nodded, his voice having gone up a few notes higher.

“And now would be a good time to add the eggs, actually,” she added - and, thank God, she finally backed away to pick the eggs up from the other side of the counter.

  
  


He gulped down a difficult breath and did his best to crack an egg open despite his shaking fingers. He did crack it, masterfully so, but he was so destabilized by her eyes on him that it slipped from his hands and crashed on the kitchen counter, the gluey substance rolling down towards him before splashing on his leather shoes. He groaned in frustration and Rose was quick to clean most of the mess with the sponge she had conveniently kept close at hand.

  
  


“Don’t worry, egg whites are good for leather,” she reassured him with a gentle poke of her elbows in his ribs. “Come on, add the eggs.”

“Aye aye, Ma’am,” he gave a strict salute that in no way matched the grin pulling on his lips.

  
  


This time, he made sure to crack his eggs above the bowl to prevent any other incident, unaware that Rose was staring at him with a hand above her mouth, trying hard not to let her amusement show.

  
  


“So, how…” he began, stopping dead in the middle of his sentence when he noticed the gleam of a laugh in the depth of her eyes. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, this is all on me,” she answered, nestling her chin in the crook of his shoulder - and was it normal for a woman to smell this good? “It’s just better to add the eggs  _ gradually _ . I should have told you sooner.”

“Oh well, if something goes wrong, at least I’ll have a good excuse,” he winked, starting to batter the eggs in. 

“And it can’t be worse than your first try anyway,” she added, unconsciously hooking her fingers in the knot of his apron. “You should add a few pinches of flour to prevent curdling.”

“You do it, I’m busy  _ gracefully  _ mixing my ingredients.”

  
  


Rose giggled and gently slapped his arm as she reached for the pack of flour, making the most of the situation to lean into his body more than strictly necessary - she knew he didn’t mind such friendly contacts and she loved touching him like this. Sometimes, she really believed they were in a well-established relationship. When they touched like this, when they hugged, when they spent sleepless nights in front of the television, watching soapy TV shows they both hated but that gave them a reason to cuddle on the couch. They bantered a lot, argued over meaningless things, sometimes so virulently that they’d stop talking to each other for days. But they always managed to go back to their old habits, a comfortable routine of visiting each other when the boredom of solitude started to weigh too much on their shoulders, eating dinners together when the sorrow of silence was too hard to bear alone. And Rose was perfectly fine with it, even if she still hadn’t given up on the hope he might want more than a good friendship - especially now that the Christmas spirit was in the air, and that he had offered to invite her for Christmas. Oh, yes, Christmas really was the perfect time to get her hopes up.

  
  


“Rose,” John suddenly whined, pulling his bowl away from her hand that was steadily burying his dough under flour. “You haven’t even weighed it!”

  
  


Rose stared at his bowl, a bit wide-eyed, and she realized that she had been too lost in her thoughts to pay attention to what she was doing. A mindless reflex had her jerk her hand away with a gasp, and a cloud of flour flew around them when she lost her grip on the pack and it crashed down on the counter.

  
  


“Sorry, sorry,” she tried to apologize between sneezes and coughs, waving her hands around to dissipate the thick cloud. “Don’t worry, everything’s under control, this is the exact amount we needed.”

“Exact amount?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and a grin, doing his best to stir the flour into the now way too dry dough. “Are you quite sure?”

“Don’t doubt me, Mister scientist,” she chastised - and, against her very best will, her hand fled before she could stop it to grant his bum a friendly slap.

  
  


The sound of the slap echoed loudly in their ears, along with one of her gaps and one of his yelps, and for a long, awkward moment, none of them dared to talk or look at each other. Rose really thought she had crossed a line that could imperil their whole relationship - it wasn’t unusual for them to be physically close, but this was a first. She might have just get her hopes  _ too  _ high. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction, and rolled her eyes in relief when he finally picked up a small flask on the far edge of the counter and offered a smile that seemed a tad too bright.

  
  


“So, banana aroma?” he said, popping the cap open with a flick of his thumb.

“Yes, definitely, yeah,” she nodded enthusiastically to cover her shame. “Can never get too much of that.”

“At least that’s something we agree on,” he grinned, emptying the whole flask into the bowl. “And, for the record, I never doubt you, Rose Tyler. I think you’re brilliant, even if you obviously don’t have an eye for precision.”

“Oh, shush, you,” she scolded, making sure to keep her hands to herself this time. “Just put your mixture into a cake pan and stuff it in the oven.”

“Doesn’t it need preheating?” he asked as he followed her instruction, the too-hard dough plopping into the pan with a sound that didn’t bode well.

“I think it might be hot enough already,” she wisely commented, opening the oven door for him. “For how long does it need to cook?”

“Forty-five minutes. I think that’s what went wrong the first time. I was busy doing… Um, just busy, and I kinda forgot about it.”

“Well, better not make the same mistake again,” she smiled, setting the thermostat of the oven on the right temperature. 

  
  


Rose turned on her feet, intent on starting to clean the outright chaos they had provoked in the kitchen. She barely had enough time to register what was happening that the soles of her boots, made slippery with the now melted snow, slid over the linoleum and made her lose her balance. She probably would have had the opportunity to anchor herself on the counter before falling, if John hadn’t decided to rush to her help and slip on the egg sludge that still hadn’t dried. Her hands clenched around the upper hem of his apron, his found their way to her waist, and they fell together with a dull thump. 

 

Rose’s gasp died in her throat when she realized how tight his chest was pressing against hers, how close his face was, so close she could feel his hot breath caressing her skin, how his eyes bore into hers with an intensity she found disconcerting.

  
  


“You okay?” he asked in a breath, breaking the short-lived enchantment that had had a warmth spread through her limbs.

“Yeah, thanks.”

  
  


She expected him to help her up and put the incident behind them, but he didn’t move. Instead, his knuckles brushed a path up her jaw, his thumb drawing feathery pattern over her cheekbone, his long fingers settling on the side of her neck and making wild sparks of electricity flare.

  
  


“Flour,” he whispered, an explanation that didn’t quite cover the reasons why he was stealing glances at her lips.

“Dirt,” she pretended, keeping her voice level with his, as she gently pinched the tip of his chin between her thumb and index. 

  
  


They stared at each other for a long time, their hot, short breath mingling together, their mouths parted in a quiet plea none of them seemed willing to answer. Rose shivered deep down to her bones when the tip of his nose finally brushed against hers, and his lips lowered to hang dangerously close.

  
  


“Do you want to spend Christmas with me, Rose Tyler?” he murmured - and Rose picked up on the slightly faster beat of his heart against his chest, even through all their layers of clothing, and, most of all, she picked up on the latent meaning of his words.

“Yes, John,” she answered, tilting her head slightly on the side. “I’d love to.”

  
  


A shadow of a quivering smile passed over his features, and his lips came to meet hers in a slow, gentle, soft kiss. Rose couldn’t quite believe she was kissing the neighbour she had secretly loved for so long, on his soiled kitchen floor, their faces covered in soot and flour, with him wearing an ugly apron, her wearing an ugly sweater. Not exactly how things usually happened in her fantasies and her dreams, but she knew nothing ever went as planned with John Smith. By their own standards, this was the most romantic and passionate kiss she’d ever get to experience. And that was the best Christmas present she’d ever be gifted with.

  
  


* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean it's been a month and a half since Christmas? Ahem.
> 
> So, yeah, this has been sleeping in my documents for almost two months because I totally forgot I had written it. Oops.  
> This is the second chapter I had suggested - and I'm terribly sorry for not answering your comments guys, I read them on my way back to France, then got so busy I forgot to reply. I'm so sorry.
> 
> Anyway, I know this comes a bit late, but well. It's always the time for a bit a fluffy smut, isn't it?
> 
> I hope you'll like, please let me know what you think! :)
> 
> PS: sorry for the cheesy line at the end, I couldn't resist.

* * *

 

 

“The apron needs to go.”

  
  


As the words left her mouth in a laboured pant, Rose tugged insistently on the knot of the dark green garment in the small of his back, that she had unfortunately tightened a bit too much. 

 

Their romantic kiss that had started on the kitchen floor had turned into a passionate snog against the counter, and another kind of fire had started in his flat - a fire that wouldn’t take a few whips from a napkin to be extinguished.  John’s answer was an annoyed groan when her mouth left his, and he grabbed her hands to locked them on the wooden surface with his before enterprising to kiss her senseless once again.

 

Rose didn’t mind the kissing, it was brilliant, hot and sexy and terribly arousing. But it might have been  _ too  _ arousing, especially since this was John standing between her legs, and God had she dreamt of that moment on so many lonely nights that this couldn’t even compare to her wildest fantasies. Well, one thing was different from her fantasies. In reality, John didn’t seem willing to go any further than this. Each attempt at pulling the bloody apron out of the way ended with him pushing her hands away or taking a tiny step back so she couldn’t reach the knot, and she started to wonder if he even was interested in her at all.

 

So she tore her mouth away from his again and ignore the sad puppy look he gave her.

  
  


“John, if we keep snogging like this without doing anything more, I’m going to explode,” she said between heavy breaths, splaying her hands on his chest. “Do you want this or not?”

  
  


He gaped at her with a feeling akin to fear and embarrassment shining in his eyes, and he clasped his hand, worrying his pouty lower lip between his teeth.

  
  


“Yes?” he mumbled hesitantly, suddenly unable to look at her.

“Yes?” Rose repeated, tilting her head on the side to search for his fleeting gaze. “Is that a question or an affirmation?”

“Rose, I want to, I really do,” he started just as he began rocking on the balls of his feet, fiddling with the hem of his apron. “You’re beautiful and terribly sexy and I’m…”

“Aroused?” she offered helpfully when his mouth opened and closed without any sound coming out of it.

  
  


Rose expected any kind of answer, except the wild blush that inflamed his cheeks and neck. 

  
  


“John?” she pressed softly, taking his trembling hands into a gentle hold. “Something you want to share?”

“I…” he said, immediately stopping to take a deep breath before he could continue. “I graduated three years ago. I started working right after getting that degree, same time I moved in here. During my university years I… Studied. Seriously. And… I never got to really meet anyone because I never went out. I've never really talked to anyone  at work either. I have never really been with anyone, and… I’m sorry, Rose, I…”

  
  


Rose’s heart melted in a wave of affection at the insecurity and the shame dripping from his features and his stance. Of course, she understood what he wanted to say - even if she had trouble believing someone as perfect as him had never been engaged into a relationship. She brought his hands to her lips and tenderly kissed each of his knuckles, brushing her thumb on the back in tiny circular motions.

  
  


“It’s okay, John,” she tried to reassure him, searching for his fleeting gaze. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, yeah? We don’t have to do anything you're uncomfortable with.”

“I just… I'm uncomfortable with the fact that I won’t be good enough for you. I can’t be enough for you.”

“You’re… You’re  _ you _ , John,” she chuckled, pulling on his hand so it could cradle the side of her neck. “And you’re perfect. I think you’re perfect. Just tell me what you want. No pressure. If you don’t want anything, that’s perfect too, yeah? It’s okay not to be ready, it’s okay to wait.”

“I’ve waited for so long already, Rose. I feel like… I’ve been waiting for you all my life. I’ve never wanted…  _ This _ , until I got to know you. I did… Things, all with you in mind, because I thought… I’d love my first time to be with you.”

“What did you do?” she felt compelled to ask, regretting her question when an even wilder blush swallowed his face.

“I, um, got tested, because I wanted to be sure, you know, nothing horrendous would happen should my dream come true,” he mumbled uneasily. “And I bought condoms, because I wanted to be prepared when…  _ If  _ the time ever came.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, John,” Rose smiled softly.

“Is it not… Awkward?” he prompted, scratching the back of his head, his blush still refusing to die down.

“Of course it isn’t,” she shook her head, smiling even more compassionately at him. “If anything, it proves that you’re attentionate. Caring, and kind, and even more perfect than I thought you already were.”

“Really?”

“Okay, here’s an idea, John. We wait for that cake to properly cook, we order some takeaway and crash on the couch in front of the telly. Give yourself some time to just relax a bit, yeah? Now that all of this is out of the way and that you know I don’t care, maybe you won’t be as nervous next time things… Get heated, hm?”

“Weren’t you, er, going to explode?” he grinned a bit sheepishly, the prospect of her suggestion just enough for relief to poke at his stomach.

“Fear not, the bomb is now diffused,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Chinese alright?”

“Yes, perfect. Why don’t you order while I clean this mess?”

 

John released a shaky breath when she winked at him and left - she told him she needed to get back to her flat to get her phone and a few other things. He watched her go, his eyes transfixed on her back, as if he had trouble believing that he could now consider the person it belonged to as his girlfriend. When did that happen? He had no idea how he had managed to get to her, and, most of all, not to make her run away yet. His fingers came to brush his lips that suddenly drew into a bright smile he was quite unable to erase from his face. He was going to spend the night with Rose Tyler. His girlfriend. He would have gladly set his kitchen on fire much sooner if he had known that would help him cross that thin line between friendship and something more.

 

Feeling lighter than he had ever felt before, he started to hum as he picked up the sponge she had abandoned to start cleaning the thin layer of flour, sugar and egg coating the counter. He pondered for a moment if he ought to do the dishes, but he decided against it - Rose probably wouldn’t be long, and he opted for a shower instead. If everything took a sharp turn during the night, at least he’d be able to find some comfort in the fact that he didn’t smell of burnt cake and dried eggs, which was better than nothing. He would still be desperately nervous and hopelessly ashamed, even though Rose had been more than understanding and sweet, because he couldn’t shove the thought that she deserved better than a sworn virgin aside. He simply wished nothing would go horrifyingly wrong and that he wouldn’t scare her away with his inexperience and expected clumsiness. 

 

His ablutions done, he went to the dressing and hesitated a moment between his usual shirt and suit trousers combination, and a more relaxed outfit. Thinking it better to walk on the safe side, he donned a light blue shirt and his most comfortable trousers - showing off his too large and old tee-shirt and short sport pants definitely wasn’t how he had imagined to impress Rose on their first date. Just as he got back into the living-room, Rose reappeared on the doorstep with a mile long fluffy duvet rolled under an arm, a pair of pink slippers in her feet, and a most definitely scanty pajama ensemble underneath a half-closed robe. 

  
  


“What?” she raised an eyebrow with a tongue-touched grin when she noticed him staring. “I like my comfort when watching the telly, alright?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he shrugged with a smile, running fingers through his still damp hair. “This is… Nice.”

“The guy on the phone told me the order should be delivered in ten minutes, they’re just down the block,” she told him, her ears having remained deaf to his whispered comment. “The cake should be ready by then, though I doubt it’ll be edible.”

“Thanks to one Rose Tyler who was too distracted and poured half too much flour over my perfect dough,” he grinned, bending over to peer through the glass of the oven window.

“And who distracted me, exactly, hm?” she teased, dropping her duvet on the couch before she joined him in the kitchen.

  
  


She crouched next to him to take a look at the cake cooking in the oven and wrapped a hand around his thigh to keep her balance - and she tried not to swoon at the thought that she was now able to do so whenever she wanted. Touch him wherever she wanted, however, whenever. She was planning on enjoying it at every occasion, kiss that pouty lip when she felt like it, which meant pretty much all the time, pinch his sexy bum at every chance, which meant she would do her very best to make it happen on a regular basis, and do a whole lot of other things a chaste mind wouldn’t dare think about, which meant she'd probably have to keep herself in check not to jump him every time her eyes landed on him and his perfect face and perfect body and perfect soul.

  
  


“I think we can already take it out,” she grinned at him with a sorry look. “Your kitchen has seen enough fire for tonight.”

“Indeed,” he agreed with a sheepish shrug, using a towel to take out the pan in which a golden loaf was starting to turn black. “We’ll have to give it another go, we can’t possibly eat a brick for dessert on Christmas.”

“I would have offered my help, but I’m not sure we make that good if a team in a kitchen,” she chuckled as he took her hand to bring her back to her feet. “You make the cake here, I’ll make the rest at home. Deal?”

“Oh, no, I’ll do everything,” he smiled, stealing a kiss before he went to the front door that had just been knocked on. “It’s a Christmas date, Rose Tyler, call me old-fashioned if you please, but I’ll play by the ancient rules.”

“As long as you don’t play me a serenade or recite poems...” Rose sighed before she went to plop down on the couch.

  
  


John came back seconds later with two plastic bags from which he took out two white boxes and two cans of soda. Rose was quick to grab her set of sticks and open her own box with a pleased hum, the smell of that food doing a much better job at awakening her stomach than the burnt cake.

  
  


“I took the same for you,” she said between two bites that both came with a content moan. “Chicken noodles, I didn’t know what you’d prefer. Hope that’s alright.”

  
  


It took John a moment to stop staring at her mouth, at her full lips that wrapped around the noodles and sucked them in, at her tongue that peeked out to lick a drop of sauce. He wondered if she had always been this teasing and he had always managed to ignore it, or if this was just a consequence of them now being together. Either way, he had to blink several times and tear his eyes away from her face before he could understand her question.

  
  


“Yes, perfect,” he answered after clearing his throat that had grown dry. “They’re my favorite.”

“Oh, John Smith, we were made for each other,” she joked with a broad smile, stuffing another impressive amount of noodles in her mouth. “So, what do you want to watch?”

“You tell me,” he offered, picking up his own box and a plastic fork. “I’ve got a few DVDs in that drawer over there, if you want to take a look.”

  
  


One minute later, they were both comfortably nestled in the couch in front of a cheap horror movie - John was thankful she wasn't the kind of woman to like the monstrosity they called romantic comedies, and at least that movie gave him the excuse to wrap an arm her shoulders. Well, given how she laughed at the first bloodshed, she probably didn't need to be reassured, but she didn’t seem the mind the position and even huddled closer to him when she was done with her noodles. He thought he could get used to that. Having a scantily dressed Rose Tyler leaning against him, an arm wrapped around his waist and the other playing with the hair at back of his head. It was far from unpleasant.

 

Halfway through the movie, John realized Rose was now sprawled over him, her face stuffed in the crook of his neck, her arm rolled even tighter around his midsection, and she had somehow managed to throw a leg over his thighs. Her soft breath was rolling against his skin, and it made the short hair at the back of his hair rise. He wasn’t used to this. To have a woman so close to him, her heat enveloping him, warmer than the thickest of duvet, her weight over his body, a simple reassurance that he wasn’t alone anymore. It was nothing. An involuntary hug, at most. It should have been fine. But his entire being was craving for that beautiful nymph clinging to him. A hunger that resulted from all those years he’d denied himself any kind of human contact. A hunger that he now realized was making this position so far from fine. 

 

Her smell tickled his nostrils, her skin burnt his, her breathing pierced his ears louder than the screams coming from the television. Every sensation seem to flow from his brain to his crotch, and he found out he was aroused. Again.  _ Please, let her be sleeping _ , he begged as his eyes widened in horror when he realised he already was at half-mast. He didn’t want her to think he only wanted her for the sex, because that definitely wasn’t his priority in the moment. 

 

But then, the arm that was wrapped around his waist tightened, slid down a little and brushed ever so slightly against the bulge that almost instantly responded to the light, very light pressure. The gasp he let out before he could stop it was answered by a giggle, and he closed his eyes forcefully when her lips trailed along his carotide.

  
  


“I hope it’s not the movie that bothers you,” she said - and he felt her mouth stir into a smile against his skin.

“It’s not,” he nothing but squeaked when her arm dropped even lower. “Rose, I…”

“I have a suggestion you might like, Mister Smith,” she grinned before giving his Adam apple a quick nip. “How about… We make this about you only tonight? You don’t have to do anything. Just… Feel? Let me take the reins. If you want it. Again, no pressure. But if you don’t want to, I might have to go back to my flat. I don’t want to cause you to combust or something.”

“That would be selfish, wouldn’t it?” he managed to say despite the spontaneous hardening of his cock at her offer.

“Not if I want it too,” she said, cupping his flushed cheeks in her palms. “And I want to, John. I want to feel you. I want to taste you. I want to touch you. Tell me. Do you want it?”

“Y-Yes. I very much do, Rose. Are you sure you…”

“Now would be a good time to stop talking,” Rose smiled before planting a wet, hot open-mouthed kiss on his jaw. “Enjoy the ride, Mister.”

  
  


Even if he had wanted to add anything, John would have been quite unable to. Rose straddled his narrow hips with one smooth throw of her leg and attacked his mouth with a ferocious snog that stole to the very last thread of coherence he had carefully clung to until then. He had trouble keeping up with her tongue, fighting a battle he knew he was bound to lose. Her full lips were hot and deliciously pliant under his, a stark contrast to the way her barely warm fingers unbuttoned his shirt with an urgency and roughness that made him glad he chose it. The kiss turned sloppy, lazy and uncoordinated as her nimble fingers finally tugged the hem of his shirt out of his trousers and pushed it out of the way.

 

John had never quite believed in the sexual potential of nipples, but the pinch she gave one of his sent a pulse of liquid fire down to his groin and he realized he’d been very wrong to overlook that potential. A loud groan left his lips when her mouth descended down his throat, sowing nips and kisses along the way until her tongue replaced her fingers over the taut bud. Oh, that was bad. His cock throbbed in tandem with the fast and hard heartbeat echoing in his ribcage, and if she kept doing that with her tongue,  _ God did she really have to add her teeth to the equation _ , it wouldn’t be long before he’d make a mess in his pants and probably die of embarrassment.

  
  
  


“Rose, Rose, please,” he gasped, his fingers delving into her blond hair to hinder the movements of her head. “I’m… I’m…”

“Close already?” she playfully taunted, bucking her hips against his to grind against his raging erection. “Better be quick, then.”

  
  
  


John felt his cheeks burst into a wild blush as her hands went to unbutton his trousers and lower the zip and he yelped helplessly, her fingers brushing his hard member. The tight coil of arousal suddenly welded with insecurity at the thought that she was about to see him, really see him. She hooked her thumbs in the elastic of his boxers and motionned for him to lift his hips so she could pull them down. He hesitated for a moment, until she reassured with a smile and a gentle squeeze on his thigh, and he pushed himself up on his feet just long enough for his clothes to gather at his knees. He swallowed past the lump that had settled low in his throat and his whole body jerked when her soft little hand wrapped around his base.

  
  


“Alright?” Rose asked with a smirk he found nothing but terribly arousing - and he could only nod forcefully, his head falling back limply on the edge of the couch. “More?”

  
  


The few experimental pumps she gave him were just a thread short of enough to make the coil snap, and his cock twitched in response to that offer - he knew what _more_ could mean in that context, and the thought of her mouth on him had a low moan follow the laboured exhale that he breathed through his nose. He closed his eyes and his fingers dug into the cushion rather than her shoulders, because he didn’t want to hurt her, not when she was doing such wonders to his body. His hips involuntarily thrusted up when he felt curls of her hair brush against the inside of his thigh and her hot breath roll all over his skin. That movement was enough for the head of his cock to bump against her mouth, and, _God_ , that almost made him come on the spot. It was all the little details that made it so much more intense than the wildest of his fantasies. The heat of her body, the touch of her warm skin, the sound of her quick breath, the sight of her face so close to him. The more he let himself be swept away by that rush of feelings, the harder his cock grew, to the point it almost became painful.

  
  


“Oh, please,” he begged under his breath, his body going rigid as she brushed his head with the pad of her thumb to gather the bead of precum. “Yes, more, Rose, please.”

  
  


He knew he sounded close to desperate and he definitely thought his weakness would make Rose laugh at him. What else could she possibly do at his obvious vulnerability that was paired with his inexperience, and thus his ridiculous reactions? But she only murmured soft words of reassurance and pressed a delicate kiss to the inside of his thigh, her fingers circling the base of his aching erection to give it a quick squeeze. And then her mouth was on his, her lips closing around his head and her tongue trailing along his slit. 

  
  


“Oh God,” he whimpered, his head shooting back up to watch the exquisite things she was doing to him. 

  
  


There was something enthralling to see her head bob up and down in his lap all while feeling her wet heat completely surround him, the soft inside of her hollowed cheeks sucking him in, the flat of her tongue deliciously running up and down his cock and twirling around his head at each pass. He didn’t realize he was panting hard and loud, nor that his hips were thrusting up and down to follow her movements. All he could feel was the coil or arousal growing tighter and tighter, his stomach swooping up and his fuzzy brain trying to make sense of how all of this was happening. One last swipe of her tongue against his head, a light squeeze on his balls and he came hard into her mouth with a growl of satisfaction and relief before he could anything about it. His vision turned white for a moment as he felt his seed spurt against her tongue still working against him, his hand flying to the back of her head either to pull her back or keep her there, he wasn’t really sure. What he was sure of was that that orgasm was the best he had ever experienced and that it had stormed through him unexpectedly hard and fast. He hadn’t even been able to warn… Oh. His euphoria was instantly drowned by a tsunami of panic and he watched in horror as Rose released his now soft appendage with a soft pop and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.   
  


 

“Christ, I’m so sorry,” he apologized quickly, tugging on his boxers to put them back on. “I’m  _ so  _ sorry Rose, I…”

“Why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she pulled herself back up to crash next to him, gathering her legs under her and snuggling on his side.

“I shouldn’t… I should have told you that…” he struggled to explain, at lack of words.

“Did you like it?”

“Rose…”

“I’m just asking if you liked it, John, don’t overthink this, yeah?” Rose smiled, throwing an arm around his waist. “If I minded that, I would have told you. So? How was it for a first time, hm?”

“It was… Er, do I really need to tell you after that?” he shrugged a bit sheepishly.

“I suppose not,” she giggled, twining her fingers between his before she pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Feel a bit more confident, now?”

“Much less. You’re way too good at this, it’s not fair.”

“I’ll teach you, don’t worry. We have plenty of time ahead of us, now.”

“Enough for a quick kip?’ John asked with an uneasy smile.

“Men after sex,” Rose sighed, though not without a trace of humour in her voice. “Okay. Just promise me you’re gonna shag me proper tomorrow morning, because I  _ really  _ am going to explode at some point.”

“So long as I’m the one setting you off, I can’t see the problem.”

“Are you making sexual puns, Mister Smith?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. That means your tongue is not that shy. I like it.”

“And soon you’re going to love it.”

  
  


Rose could only laugh as John swept her into his arms and kissed her deeply on the way to his bedroom. At least, he knew that if they didn’t manage to make a cake for Christmas, that wouldn’t mean they wouldn’t get any dessert.

  
  


* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! :)

* * *

 

 

Treacherous body. He looked at the bright red number glowing in the darkness above her shoulder. Barely three in the morning. She was still fast asleep next to him, over him. His arm was stuck under her shoulder, numb already, her leg thrown over his thigh, her fingers hooked in the collar of his tee-shirt. He hadn’t slept much. Barely able to doze off and relax despite his tiredness. He should have been comfortable. Part of him was. Part of him was delighted to have this beautiful woman curled on his side, ecstatic to finally share her warmth, over the moon to feel, to know he wasn’t alone any longer. But part of him was restless. 

 

Stupid body. Getting excited with a touch of a finger, getting eager with a wisp of her perfume. Getting aroused with the feel of her shapes moulded against his. Stupid, stupid body. Thank the Heavens, he wasn’t hard. No fully, anyway. Just enough to have to tug on his shorts and shift his hips away from her, hoping he wouldn’t wake her up. He wasn’t ashamed of his desire. Not really. He was ashamed because he didn’t know what to do with it. 

 

Her words trotted in the back of his head.  _ Promise me you’re gonna shag me proper tomorrow morning _ . There was nothing he wanted more in that moment. But he was properly anxious. He knew she wouldn’t expect him to be good. He was scared he would be worse than bad. Scared he wouldn’t be able to pleasure her as much as she deserved. Scared he would hurt her, for whatever reason, and scared she would laugh at him. Scared she would be disappointed in him, and scared he would be disappointed in himself. He had built the perfect first time in his imagination over the years and that scenario was reeling before his eyes. Now that he was there, Rose in his arms, in his bed, the fantasy was turning into a nightmare. Every little ideal scene he had directed were turning into snippets of horror, each ending on a disaster. He didn’t feel capable of doing any of what he had planned anymore. He just couldn’t do it. Her warm body, her soft breath, her skin, her weight. They made it all too real. This wasn’t a mere fantasy. This was Rose. Real, perfect Rose. 

 

And he was terrified. Because she wanted to  _ shag _ , and he wasn’t even sure he was ready for that. Wasn’t even sure he  _ wanted  _ that. He really liked her. Really, really liked her. He wanted a meaningful first time with her. He didn’t want to be a one-night - or one-morning - stand. What if she just wanted him for the sex? He couldn’t find a single reason why she would, but he couldn’t find a single reason why she would accept to date him either. God, why did it have to be so difficult, and why did he insist on making such a big deal about all this? 

  
  


“John,” she suddenly moaned in the crook of his neck, stretching her back like a lazy cat which only made her chest press tighter against his. “Why ‘ren’t you sleepin’?”

  
  


_ Treacherous body _ . He swallowed his high-pitched squeak and shifted his hips even further away, but, deep in her slumber, she protested through a whine and pulled him back to her. He gasped a sharp breath in, almost thankful his fears and anxiety kept his arousal under a semblance control. 

  
  


“John?” she said again, softly, but obviously verging on full consciousness. “You okay?”

“Fine, yes, fine,” he hurried to answer, entangling their limbs to get away from her and sit on the edge of the bed. “Too hot in here… Just sleep, I’m gonna grab a glass of water.”

  
  


He didn't wait for a reaction, jumped to his feet and fled out of the bedroom. She didn’t need to know about his insecurities. He didn’t want her to know he was a foolish virgin scared of taking that one step he had never taken. In the kitchen, he poured himself a large glass of cold water, sipped on it but couldn't get half a gulp down his tight throat, and braced himself against the counter with a tired sigh. He would tell her he wasn't ready. Might never be ready.

 

He froze when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and a light weight lean against his back. 

  
  


“John,” she murmured, nestling her chin over his shoulder. “Why don't you tell me what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” he shrugged - and the movement caused her head to slip back, but she was quick to put it back again. “I’m fine, okay?”

“No you're not, I know you enough to know you're not,” she said as she loosened her hold on him, a bit of worry and sadness trailing along her words. “Are you having second thoughts about this? About us? Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No, no, of course not,” he stuttered, twirling in her embrace to face her. “No, I’ve wanted… I’ve wanted this for ages, Rose, please, don’t leave.”

“Then tell me, John. Tell me what’s going on. Please?”

  
  


He looked into her eyes, and he saw she was genuinely worried. And he felt awful. Embarrassed all over again, and ridiculous, and scared. But he had to be honest, lest she’d believe the wrong kind of things. He knew that, from the outside, it only looked as if he didn’t want her. He’d fled from the bed, fled from her, and a stupid glass of water wasn’t enough of an excuse. 

 

She encouraged him with soft caresses of her fingers over his bare forearms and cocked her head to the side. Maybe she would understand. Maybe she wouldn’t, but at least she’d know it wasn’t her fault. He didn’t want her to believe it was her fault. So, he took a deep breath, looked away, anchored himself on the counter, and let the string of words flow from his mouth all at once.

  
  


“Icantshagyouproperinthemorning.”

  
  


She blinked through her confusion and brought a hand to the side of his face to catch his fleeting eyes.

  
  


“I’m sorry?” she asked, keeping a set of reassuring fingers on his wrist.

“I said,” he started again after swallowing the hard and uncomfortable lump in his throat. “I can’t shag you proper in the morning. I’m sorry. I can’t, I just… Can’t.”

  
  


She opened her mouth, gaped at him for a few seconds, then simply smiled. He frowned at the giggle that rose in her throat, half-annoyed, half-abashed, and snorted when she gently slapped his chest.

  
  


“John Smith, you scared the shit out of me,” she chastised fondly, her tense shoulders slumping under her relief. “I thought something was really wrong.”

“Well, it’s wrong, isn’t it?” he shrugged, absentmindedly fiddling with the little ribbon on the sleeve of her pajama top. “I’m rubbish. I can’t give you what you want, and you’ll be frustrated and angry and you’ll realize I’m not good enough for you.”

“This isn’t about me, John, yeah?” she tried to reassure him, rather distressed to witness his anxiety. “Please, forget I ever said that. God, if I had known you would worry yourself sick because of this I would have kept my mouth shut.”

“But you want this, don’t you?”

“Not if you don’t want it, too, John, no, I really don’t. This is obviously very important to you. Your first time, John, it’s important for me, too, especially if you want me to be that first. If we do it, this’ll all be about you. I’m not taking this lightly, yeah? I want you. I want it. But I will never,  _ ever _ , force it upon you. I won’t do anything until you’ve made it clear you want it. This is your decision, and yours only, John. I can wait. You’re perfect as you are, and I’m not here for the sex. I’m here for you, because I like you and I want to be with you. You’re a person with feelings, not a piece of meat. I respect your feelings. Respect them, too, and don’t make this about me, please.”

“But I… I want it,” he said, nervously nibbling his lower lip. “I’m just… I don’t… I won’t know what to do. I want it to be good for you, too, and I don’t…”

“John, it takes two to dance, yeah? I’m here, you’re not alone. Don’t overthink this, let it happen, do what feels natural to you. I want you to enjoy it. Don’t question what you feel like doing, just do it. But, please, do it only if you want to. Don’t pressure yourself into doing something just for my benefit. You first. And only when you really want it, okay?”

  
  


He blew a shaky sigh through his nose when she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her lips against his chest. Rose. Real, perfect Rose. He wondered what good thing he had done in his life to deserve her. Every insecurity that had been brewing in the pit of his stomach was gone, replaced by comforting flutters of affection. She understood. Better, she accepted. He wasn’t scared any longer, because she had taken those fears and crushed them with her reassuring words. He was still nervous, but he didn’t think he’d ever manage to deal with that. At least, he knew she understood. The beautiful, selfless woman clinging to him understood. And he understood, too. He felt ready. 

  
  


“I wanted it yesterday,” he admitted in a whisper. “I wanted it an hour ago. I still want it.”

“Do you want it, or do you think you want it?” she asked, bringing her hands to his hips, looking up into his eyes to read his feelings. “I want you to be sure, John.”

“I want it,” he repeated as he leaned into her touch, letting this truth send shivers down his spine. “Please, Rose. I want it.”

“Okay. Go back the the bedroom, John. I’ll join you in a minute, yeah?”

“Rose, just… Isn’t it awkward to… Plan it that way?”

  
  


She grinned before she pulled him into a hug and kissed him fully on the lips, teasing the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. He moaned, his fingers clenched around her top, but she was quick to step back when he started to answer her kiss.

  
  


“I’ll make sure it doesn’t feel planned,” she teased, scratching her nails down his chest. “One minute. Don’t chew your fingers off.”

  
  


He simply nodded and did as he was told, giving her a last kiss as she freed him from her hold. He plopped down on the bed and shifted up the mattress to sit against the headboard. His heart was beating hard and fast against his chest as he listened to the muffled noises coming from the living-room. Soon, Rose would be here. He didn’t quite manage to stop his fingers from trembling, so he curled them around his shorts so she wouldn’t notice. Well, she would notice, eventually, he believed. His whole body was screaming anxiety. But this time, he also felt… Impatient. Oddly excited. Rose. Perfect Rose. The woman he had dreamt about for so long was about to step into his room, and…

 

He stiffened momentarily when she reappeared, walked to the bedside table to turn on the lamp, climbed up the bed to straddle his lap, tucked something under a pillow.

  
  


“One less thing to worry about,” she explained with a smile, lacing her fingers with his. “Nervous?”

“A little,” he shrugged, though he dared to bring her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. 

“Relax, John, yeah?” she murmured as she brushed fingers through his hair. “We’ll take it slow.”

“What if I can’t… What if I don’t last?”

“Then you won’t, that’s alright. I don’t want you to hold back. Just.. Live it. You first, John, I meant it. Anything you want or need, tell me. Now, close your eyes.”

  
  


And so he did, not without one last look at her perfect smile. It started with a soft caress on his cheek. Just one finger that drew random patterns over his skin, brushed against his lower lip, trailed down his chin, his throat. It wasn’t much, but the fact that he couldn’t see her and see what she was doing made it all electrifying. Her finger stopped in the nook between his clavicles, and then her mouth followed the same route her finger had taken. Warm lips, a hot breath, teasing each parcel of his skin, teeth scraping against his jaw, the column of his throat, tongue swiping against his mouth. It wasn’t much, but the initiative allowed his body to get used to her soft touches.

 

He drew in a sharp breath when she gently bucked her hips, just as her mouth captured his again in a searing kiss. He pressed a hand in the small of her back, wrapped the other around the nape of her neck, and eagerly answered her nips with tender bites of his own. He shifted under her, just a bit, because he could already feel himself grow hard against her pelvis and he desperately wanted to alleviate the pressure. He was sure, now. He wouldn’t last. Not when a snog was enough for his arousal to flare. If they took it too slow, it would be over before he could even take off his shorts. She seemed to understand.

 

She broke the contact of their lips, and his eyes finally opened to watch her take his hands and bring them to the hem of her top. She simply nodded with a reassuring smile, and he pulled it up her body to free her of the garment. He silently choked on a gasp at the sight of her naked breasts and his fingers twitched around her hips. She was beautiful. Skin glowing under the dim light of the lamp, flushed with what he hoped to be her own arousal, light pink nipples standing erect atop the mounds of creamy flesh. When he did nothing but stare with heavy-lidded eyes, she motioned for him to straighten so she could take his own tee-shirt off. She splayed both her hands over his pectorals, scraped her nails against his coarse smattering of hair, teased his nipples with the pad of her thumbs. He groaned, loud, before he could stop it, sparks of pleasure shooting down his loins. But he understood. He slowly brought his own hands to her chest and gently, slowly cupped her breasts in his large palms. Warm, round, soft. She tweaked one of his nipples, he did the same, and he was rewarded with a low mewl of pleasure that only made his erection swell further. 

 

There was something indescribable about feeling her intimate flesh under his fingers, knowing she trusted him enough to reveal that part of her, to see his own fingers shaped over the pale swells of her chest. He loved it. She was beautiful. Too beautiful. His head fell back against the headboard and his throat bobbed as a ostentatious whimper fled from his nose. Just because she deemed necessary to replace her fingers with her mouth, hot and moist lips closing around his nipple, tongue laving and pulling it taut. This was new, too new, and his body wasn’t used to so much teasing. This kind of pleasure was foreign, and he was quite unable to control his reactions. He wished he could focus on her own pleasure more, make her feel as good as she made him feel, but his mind went blank when she rocked her hips and bit her teeth around his nipple. 

  
  


“Rose,” he groaned, unconsciously bucking his hips under her - which only made it all worse, his hardness thrusting against her hot center. “Rose, I... Please.”

“It’s okay John,” she whispered against his skin, hooking her fingers in the waistband of his shorts. “How close are you?”

“I’m sorry,” he could only breathe out, eyes rolling behind his eyelids squeezed shut, when she climbed off his lap and pulled the garment out of the way. “I just… This is… I don’t trust myself for when… When we’ll...”

“Don’t be sorry, John, just tell me. Top or bottom?”

“Wh… I… Top? I’d like… I’d like to…”

“Okay,” she smiled, letting herself fall on her back with a giggle, pulling him on top of her. “How about you improvise a little?”

“You mean… Touch you?” he asked, the nervousness he had forgotten about coming back full force.

“I won’t break, John,” she said softly, craning her neck to capture his lips into a gentle kiss. “Here, see…”

  
  


He let her twined his fingers between hers, let her guide his hand over her breasts, down her stomach, down the front of her underwear. If he had been enthralled by the picture of his hands on her breasts, it was nothing compared to the feel of her heat through the lacy garment. He simply followed her movements at first, her fingers pressing his own against her sex, and he breathed hard through his mouth when she moaned and squeezed her thighs around his wrist. He wanted to hear that again, but be the one to drag those sounds out of her lungs. He laid down on her side, unlaced their fingers, brought a hand to tug the lace down her legs. His cock twitched as he feasted on the sight of her naked forms, a flushed and strong body, and image so perfect he would never have been able to imagine it. He braced himself on an elbow and stared into her eyes as he tentatively brushed his fingertips over her folds. Just a bit of exploration at first, a discovery journey to map the foreign Eden of her pleasure.

  
  


“More, please,” she murmured, arching her back to push her pelvis against his palm.

  
  


Emboldened by her request, he landed his lips in the crook of her neck to suckle on a soft patch of skin, just as his middle finger ran through her folds. He was answered with a loud moan of pleasure, and his hips rutted against her own of their own volition at the arousing sound. He would have thought pleasuring her would have helped keep his own pleasure under control. Obviously, it didn’t help at all. Made it even worse. To feel her wetness, hear her soft cries, see her body writhe against his… Know he was the one drawing these reactions out of her body. It was uniquely exciting. He had to muffle a grunt against her neck when his hips rutted again, his cock rubbing against the warm side of her leg, and he tried to do more.

 

His fingers circled the nub he felt hidden between her folds and his lips found a way to a taut nipple. He kept his touches light, careful, lest he would hurt her, but it seemed to be enough for her, and more than enough for him. He enjoyed it, for at least for a whole minute, until his persistent rutting made it too hard to keep up with his rhythmical strokes, until his groans made it impossible to keep his tongue on her breast for more than a second. He ended up slipping a finger into her heat, more by inadvertence than real intention, and she suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair to bring his mouth back to hers and snog him senseless for a moment too short, or too long, his waist rocking in synchronicity with the dance of their tongues.

  
  


“Rose,” he gasped, breaking the kiss when her nimble hand wrapped around his cock without warning.

“I want you, John,” she breathed heavily, reaching under the pillow to find the condom she had put aside for this moment. “Do you?”

“Yes, please, Rose, yes,” he hurried to whimper.

  
  


She was quick to tear the foil despite her trembling fingers, and his eyes fluttered shut when she rolled the condom down his hardness - only then did he realize his arousal was so much stronger than he had believed. It would consume him, hard and fast. He wouldn’t last. She managed to flip him over her and locked her ankles in the small of his back. He hovered over her, choking on his breaths, completely subdued by the desire and the affection shining in her eyes. She wanted him. For the first time, he was about to make love to Rose Tyler. Rose, perfect, beautiful Rose. 

 

She slipped a hand between their bodies, squeezed his erection a few times, then dragged his tips through her folds until her was settled at her entrance.

  
  


“Alright?” she asked, breathless, searching for the confirmation in his eyes.

“I… I won’t…” he whimpered, his trembling arms almost giving out under his weight. “Yeah. Yes, I… Yes.”

“Please, John. Want you.”

  
  


He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs, only releasing it along a deep moan as he slowly sheathed his length in her warmth. Her nails dug in his shoulder blades, silently begging him to move, and he did. A peaceful rocking at first, just to fully realize it was happening, to bask in the feel of her warm body under his, to enjoy her breath on his face and her voice in his ears. She felt tight, hot, her muscles contracting around his swollen member, and the pleasure that flooded his veins was unlike any other he had ever experienced, surpassed the best of his expectations. He was making love to Rose Tyler. Not shagging her proper. Making love. Because he loved her. That single thought was enough to move faster, deeper, each thrust fueling his arousal until he was panting loud and hard above her. 

 

She cupped his face to plant a hard and deep kiss on his mouth, tongue finding his, teeth biting into his pouty lips when he failed to keep up. He loved it. He loved kissing. He loved that simple thing that proved it was meaningful. But he couldn’t kiss her any longer. He was too close, and his pent up passion made it impossible to control anything else but his quickening thrusts. So, he pressed her forehead against hers and stared into her darkened eyes. And she pressed her nose against his, trailed her fingers around his back to draw him into a hug.

  
  


“John,” she murmured between sobs of pleasure, rocking her hips in tandem with his. “My John, I think… I think I love you.”

  
  


He almost didn’t hear it through the deafening sound of his blood rushing in his ears, though his heavy moans and loud grunts. Almost.  _ I love you _ . He was making love to Rose Tyler. And Rose Tyler was making love to him. He whined almost pitifully and his hips jerked hard against hers, his thrusts growing uneven and losing their rhythm. It took one more squeeze of her inner muscles around his length.  _ I love you _ . He muted his shout with a bruising kiss and stopped moving, his hard cock throbbing with the wild pulses of his release, not fast enough to follow the erratic heartbeat pounding in his chest, not long enough to fully understand what was happening. His brain was empty, apart from that one thought hammering against his skull.  _ I love you _ .

 

His arms eventually gave out and he collapsed on top of her, quickly rolling to the side to spare her the discomfort. He had made love to Rose Tyler. He chased the stars from his eyes with a few blinks and released a deep sigh, letting the wave of utter felicity wash over his exhausted body. Rose Tyler loved him. He would have laughed, swept away by his delirious happiness, if it hadn’t been for her hand going back to his softening length to remove the condom and discard it to the side. But he didn’t laugh, because he suddenly realized his orgasm hadn’t been accompanied with hers, and his joy was quickly smothered.

 

He swallowed hard when she curled up on his side with a contented sigh and kissed his jaw. 

  
  


“How was it?” she asked softly, brushing her knuckles over his torso. 

“Rose, did you…” he started, her pleasant warmth unable to keep the sudden shiver that shook his body at bay.

“No,” she shrugged - and why was she smiling when he hadn’t been able to properly make love to her, he didn’t know. “That’s alright, John. I really enjoyed it, you know. I’m happy. I truly am. I feel… I feel like we’ve shared something very precious. Please, John, don’t ruin it, yeah? I feel perfect. Do you? Did you enjoy it?”

“You’ve made it amazing, Rose,” he answered, turning to the side so he could look into her eyes and bring her body close to his. “You’re… You can feel perfect. You’re perfect. And I think… I think I love you, too. You’re… God, you really are perfect, Rose.”

“So are you, John,” she smiled through her quiet tears - she hadn’t expected him to hear her confession, and she had most definitely not expected his own confession. “Well, almost.”

“Almost?”

“You’re a terrible cook.”

“Quite right. But so are you.”

“Quite right. I’m a good shag, though, aren’t I?”

“No you’re not.,” he shook his head slowly, bringing a hand to cup her cheek. “You’re a beautiful woman I loved making love to.”

“I loved it too, John. And I meant it. I… I love you.”

  
  


He briefly closed his eyes to enjoy the sounds of these words, unable to believe so many incredible things had happened and were still happening over the course of a few hours, and he kissed her, softly, gently.

  
  


“I love you, too, Rose.”

“Then you really need to shag me proper tomorrow, now.”

“I can try.”

“You’ll do great. You have some moves, Mister Smith, trust me.”

“I want to see your moves, too.”

“Oh, you will, trust me, you will.”

  
  


He laughed in the crook of her neck and hugged her close to his chest, rolling their bodies over so he could wrap the cover around them. 

 

He finally managed to fall asleep, all his worries and fears drowned in the waves of love and affection that had swallowed him whole. Now that he knew how to make love to Rose Tyler, he would definitely try to shag her proper the morning later. 

  
  


* * *

 


End file.
